Badgered
Even at a hundred acres, this wood is not big enough for both of us.
From his first day here, he has been a beast to us. He came crashing into my home, declaring the burrow would henceforth be his own. I stood my ground, and barely dodged one of my hunny-pots that he threw at me, shattering it. He then advanced, picking up a shard to hold at my throat as he licked the nectar from another, saying, "This shall be mine, as well." My whole stores for the year, surrendered to his greedy paws.
Naturally, I went straightaway to Christopher Robin. He bade me calm down; we had always lived in harmony here, he said, regardless of species. This furry monstrosity was another of his playthings, a companion for further adventures. He was no more to be feared, he told me, than a mature kangaroo or hyperactive tiger -- or a bear. The boy is willfully blind. Why does he not see what our new arrival has done, day after day? How he terrorises all of us?
Owl retreated, at first to higher branches, and now has left the wood completely. I resent his fleeing, but often wish I had the wings to join him.
Eeyore is more despondent than ever. The poor burro has given up on ever getting his tail back, he last saw it lashed repeatedly upon his face and body by that laughing brute. I fear, having seen my dear friend stare mournfully into the stream where once we played, that he will soon give up on life itself.
Rabbit's garden is a shambles -- and so is his mind, as he has barricaded himself into his home, constantly sharpening various implements and muttering about acquiring firearms.
Kanga actually attempted to reason with the beast, but the monster did not care! He accosted her rudely, even attempted to pull Roo from her pouch, saying the lad would be his plaything. Kanga naturally responded in her son's defence, and received horrid bruising and broken stitches for her trouble. The little one is still not over the terror. She has begged me not to seek retribution, to honor Christopher Robin's wishes, but I find I can no longer stand aside.
It was what this abomination did to Piglet that steeled my resolve. I cannot bring myself to elaborate on those acts, so I will concentrate now on my own.
Tigger is now leading the foul thing to the far side of the wood. It took hardly any taunting at all to draw him out. In that remote acre, my feline friend has set up a solution remembered from his Punjabi relatives. Fortunately, being animals -- and made of stuffed fabric -- we have no humanity to lose. Still, I will fear what damage this inflicts upon what souls we have, and resent forever the beast for driving us to these acts.
Meanwhile, I will have one of my chats with Mr. Milne. I will speak to him plain (fortunately, he is the one adult with whom I do not become a mute toy in his presence) and strike my bargain. I will concede to letting him portray me as simple-minded in his poems and stories, as he has long wished to do, to better charm his readers. In exchange, our most recent companion will be forever stricken from his works. No child shall ever read of the Hunny-Badger. To the public and our admirers, should we find fame, he will never have existed. As figments we are immortal, unless we are forgotten, and this -- worse than mortal death -- shall be his fate.
I know this is out of character for me, but I have become a bear of very little patience. Like my adversary, I find it difficult to care.
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This is my entry for LJ Idol Exhibit A, Week 7, Topic: " Honey Badger don't care!" All characters herein (except for it-which-shall-not-be-remembered) are properties of the Disney corporation and Milne estate, and no profit is intended from their use here (except votes in an online writing contest). A hunnyed heartfelt thank-you to whipchick for the beta-read and notes.